


Lost Hope(Found Again?)

by kiranightshade



Series: My Lost Soul (Lead Me to Redemption) [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate universe- Derek never comes to Beacon Hills, Kidnapped Derek, Kidnapped Stiles, M/M, Or Laura, Post-Season/Series 01, timeline wise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 20:30:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6625114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiranightshade/pseuds/kiranightshade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What’s your name?” the boy asks. His voice is hoarse but it carries a strength that demands the man’s attention. He opens his mouth but no words come out. He tries again but he lacks the strength to answer him.</p><p>      The boy’s eyes soften as he slowly walks closer, “That’s alright. My name is Stiles. I’m going to get us out of here okay?” By now he is crouched in front of the man and holding his hand out. Like he is some sort of wounded animal, kicked so many times it lashes out at anything that gets too close. Then again, the man supposes he is. </p><p> </p><p>or the one where Derek has been held captive for he doesn't even know how long anymore and one day gets a new cell-mate that might just have enough hope for the both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Hope(Found Again?)

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a quick one-shot I wrote for school that I have sterek-fied. Which means that if their are any female pronouns in this i missed let me know in the comments so i can fix it. I've gone over this at least 3 times though so i doubt there are any left. i may continue this into a series but no promises.
> 
> It's a series now out of pure procrastination.

The great metal door swings shut once more as a bloody form falls to the cold concrete. The broken figure attempts to sit up but can only let out a small whimper. He lays there bruised, torn, bloody, and broken for many minutes before he thinks he can move again. Slowly, he makes his way to the back corner. Exhausted, he crumbles into a heap of matted hair and bloody rags and passes out. 

The man wakes to the sound of the door creaking open. His blood runs cold. He goes stone still and doesn’t open his eyes. He hears the murmurs and hushed whispers of his tormentors as something thuds to the ground in the room. The door shuts with a deafening click of the lock. He doesn’t dare breathe as the second person begins to shout and scream. It’s no use. It will only gain their attention. He needs to stop now! The boy seems to lose his strength and breaks into tears. A small thud indicates that he has fallen to his knees. The man is just about to nod off to his hiccups when they stop. He can hear footsteps. The boy is walking about the cell, no doubt trying to find a way out. How foolish. The man can tell the exact moment he is noticed. The intake of breathe. The abrupt stop of his muttering and footsteps. For a while he does nothing. Simply standing there. Eventually, it is too much and the man opens his eyes. With what little light has made it in the cell he can see a boy staring right back at him. 

The boy is, by all accounts, beautiful. Gods, he can’t be older than nineteen. His brown hair stands out like he is constantly running his hands through it. His pale complexion only emphasizes the moles splattered about his neck. However, despite all this, his hazel eyes are inescapable. They burn with the intensity of a person willing to do anything in order to survive. They burn with anger and they promise vengeance. There is a stubbornness there that tells the man that there would be no point in telling him the wastefulness his actions will bring him. How he must preserve his strength. How there is no escaping this cell. That he has tried everything and yet is still here. Battered, broken, and looking into the eyes that will hurt him so badly. Seeing this beautiful boy lose that fire will hurt more than everything that has been done to him combined ten times over. He can feel his hate for his captures grow impossibly larger but its empty and resigned. Energy for such luxuries were bled out a long time ago. 

“What’s your name?” the boy asks. His voice is hoarse but it carries a strength that demands the man’s attention. He opens his mouth but no words come out. He tries again but he lacks the strength to answer him.

The boy’s eyes soften as he slowly walks closer, “That’s alright. My name is Stiles. I’m going to get us out of here okay?” By now he is crouched in front of the man and holding his hand out. Like he is some sort of wounded animal, kicked so many times it lashes out at anything that gets too close. Then again, the man supposes he is. The man looks down to it as he processes his words. He wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of what he promises, but instead finds himself crying. And it’s like those first few tears give him a burst of energy. He lets out a sob this time. The movement tipping him over and he falls into the boy’s, no, Stiles’ arms. Stiles just holds on tight as the man breaks apart into his neck. Sob after sob fills the small cell.

 

Hours later, well after the man runs out of tears to spare, the heaving dies down. The shaking man notices that they have moved to where Stiles is leaning against the corner now, holding the man close. The man looks up from his shoulder and Stiles attempts to wipe the crusted blood out of his eye when the man attempts to say something. After a few tries he makes something of a hoarse gasp. Eventually he is able to get out one hoarse, crackly word. 

“Derek”

The great metal door swings open.


End file.
